#drone tf

I took a few creative liberties here and wrote a long one lol. Enjoy!

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“C’mon,” Ethan muttered, gripping the back of the couch as he tried to straighten his right leg. “I’ve got this... I've... fuck!”

He exhaled deeply and collapsed onto the couch, wincing as the pain shot through his knee. It hurt so much, so fuckin' much. And it wasn't just physical. He could hear his phone buzzing, the messages piling up.

"You coming back this season, bro?"

"Tubing Friday. Your knee good enough yet?"

"Scouts still asking about you btw."

Ethan cursed again. He missed going to practice. Missed drinking with bros. Missed the parties, the dumb arguments, the camaraderie. He missed his life before the injury.

“Fuck me...” His head sunk into his hands, "Stupid fuckin' knee."

He glanced up at his stick and the framed photo of the team. Him in the middle with a wide grin and his arm around his bros. Fuck... he wanted to get back to that. And he wanted to get back fast.

"There's gotta be a way..." He muttered.

An hour later he was deep in rehab forums when an ad stopped him cold.

BUILD-U-BACK RECOVERY NOW ENROLLING IN YOUR AREA: A NEW START, LASTING RELIEF

“Sounds fake as hell,” Joe murmured. But when he glanced back at the team photo he felt a pang in his chest. He reached for his wallet soon after.

----------------

This was it. Ethan stood on the empty practice field, stick in hand. The cold night air felt good against his warm skin. The stadium lights already dimming.

"Okay..." He bounced on the balls of his feet, "Okay, I've got this."

He dropped into goalie stance carefully, bracing for the pain. But it never came.

"No way..." Ethan pushed harder, shuffling across the crease before planting sharply off the bad leg, "Oh my god." He laughed with disbelief, "No fuckin' way!"

"Walsh?"

Ethan spun and smiled wider when he saw Luke, "Bro!"

"Dude! You're running!"

"I know! I fuckin' know!" He pointed at his knee, "It's gone, dude! It doesn't even hurt anymore."

"Let's fuckin' go, bro!"

It fuckin' worked. That fuckin' drug actually worked! Ethan stood proud, chest heaving and adrenaline surging. He was back. Practice, scouts, games, parties... it was all back.

-----------------

“Dude! First game back, you feel ready?”

Ethan looked up from tying his cleats and grinned. “More than ready.”

He tugged at the bottom of his hoodie, annoyed again by how tight it felt around his waist and chest. He’d already stopped wearing some of his older shirts entirely after realizing they didn’t fit right anymore. He figured his dryer was doing a number on his wardrobe.

“We won’t be too upset if you fuck up out there,” Luke said while peeling his shirt over his head. “We get you’re a little rusty.”

“Eat shit,” Ethan laughed, tossing a roll of tape at him before reaching for his own hoodie.

The cool air felt warm against his skin, and Ethan scratched absentmindedly at his chest, pausing for just a moment as his fingers tangled with thicker hairs there.

"The fuck...?" Ethan frowned and looked down.

Dark curls spread across the middle of his chest before trailing down his stomach and disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. Sweat glistened faintly through the hair despite the cold room, and when Ethan shifted slightly, the waistband dug tighter against a stomach that suddenly looked thicker than he remembered.

"I shaved this shit this morning..." He figured the hair growth was a side effect of the drug, but he'd spent the last few days making sure he kept it under control. But now...?

Luke whistled low. “Damn, Walsh. Didn’t realize the recovery plan involved growing a lawn on your chest and blowing out your waistline.”

A couple guys laughed awkwardly before looking away again.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ethan muttered, pulling his jersey on faster than usual. The fabric stretching tighter around his waist than he remembered.

Nobody really said anything after that.

Ethan forced a grin anyway and slammed his locker shut. “Alright, boys,” he called out. “Let’s do this.”

-------------

It was supposed to feel normal again. Friday night. Sports bar packed wall-to-wall after the game. Music too loud. Ethan sat wedged between Luke and Dylan with a cold Busch Light in his hand before realizing halfway through the bottle that he didn’t even remember ordering it.

“You looked like shit tonight,” Luke laughed.

“Appreciate it.”

“Seriously though, you good?”

Ethan scratched at the rough stubble on his chin. “Just playing bad.”

His phone buzzed against the table.

"CONGRATULATIONS ON ONE MONTH! YOUR NEXT PHASE OF RECOVERY STARTS TONIGHT!"

Ethan frowned at the notification before locking the screen again, "Next phase?" He stared at his arm, now dusted with dark hairs.

"Hey Ethan." Luke nudged him, "Someone's staring."

Ethan spotted her across the bar. Blond. Gorgeous. Smiling at him. For the first time all night, something loosened in his chest.

“There we go,” Dylan laughed when he caught Ethan staring. “That’s the Walsh we know.”

Ethan grinned and took another sip. Soon after, he was fumbling with his apartment keys while she laughed softly beside him in the hallway. They moved to his bedroom, clothes discarded quickly.

"Fuck..." Ethan whispered, as she kissed slowly along his neck, "I needed..."

"Standby mode protocol upload."

He squeezed his eyes shut.

“What?” she asked softly.

“It's uh... Nothin’.”

Her hands slid slowly across his chest and draped around his shoulders before pausing.

“Wow,” she said with a small laugh. “You’re kinda hairy.”

Ethan glanced down automatically, eyes widening at the sight of the dark hair curling across his shoulders and down his back.

"That's not..." He knew it wasn't there five hours ago.

“Sorry,” she added quickly, still smiling. “You’re just hairer than most guys I’ve been with.”

"Pleasure directives stem from labor initiatives."

Ethan winced hard enough that she finally pulled back slightly.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I just...” He rubbed at his forehead. “I don’t feel right.”

She kissed him again anyway, her hand sliding lower across the thicker, softer shape of his stomach before slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers and around his flaccid cock.

“Oh,” she laughed gently, trying to mask her confusion.

Ethan glanced down, a wave of sickening humiliation washing over him. His cock stayed completely dead. Buried in a dense, coarse mat of newly thick pubic hair and a rapidly expanding fat pad, his dick looked distinctly shorter, stubbier, and entirely useless

“You okay?” she asked again, quieter this time.

“Yeah. I just...” He swallowed hard. “I dunno. It's not working... I... Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said softly, “Seriously. It happens.”

A few minutes later he stood awkwardly by the door while she slipped her shoes back on.

“Maybe just stress?” she offered gently.

“Yeah.” Ethan forced a laugh. “Probably.”

After she left, the apartment felt painfully quiet again. Ethan stood there shirtless for another minute before walking to the fridge automatically and grabbing another Busch Light.

------------

A week had passed, and Ethan exhaled heavily as he stepped out of the shower. He’d stopped changing in the locker room after practice a few days ago, tired of catching teammates staring too long at his stomach or shoulders before awkwardly looking away. Now, alone in his apartment, there was nobody else left to notice except him.

“Jesus Christ...” he whispered at his reflection.

The mirror across from the bed reflected somebody that looked wrong. Dark curls spread heavily across his chest and shoulders now, while rough stubble shadowed his jaw despite shaving before practice that morning. Even standing still, his body looked heavier than it used to.

“I’m exercising,” Ethan muttered weakly. “I’m eating healthy...” His eyes drifted toward the empty Busch Light cans scattered across the nightstand, “I...”

"Standby initiating."

Ethan’s breath caught as the voice echoed in his head.

“What the...”

"Standby mode active."

Every muscle in his body locked instantly.

Ethan jerked hard against it on instinct, but nothing responded correctly. His fingers twitched once beside his thigh before going still again. His chest continued rising and falling normally. He could blink. Breathe. Swallow. But that was it.

“What... the fuck...” he forced out weakly.

Hours passed as Ethan sat frozen on the edge of the bed staring into the mirror. The rough hair across his chest thickened slowly while his stomach pushed heavier against his lap with every shallow breath. His face itched constantly as a dark beard spread across his jaw until he looked like he hadn’t shaved in weeks.

A knock on the door and the sound of heavy footsteps entering his apartment made him tense. He watched as two men in BUILDING-U-BACK jackets entered his room and stopped mid-step when they saw Ethan in nothing but a pair of tight sweatpants.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “That’s the lacrosse kid?”

“Yeah. CRW-57F.”

The younger guy kept staring. “Still got some of that frat-boy face left.”

“Not for too long.”

The younger rep shook his head slowly. “Weird seeing one this young.”

“Don’t worry,” the older rep said casually. “Give it a week and you won’t even be able to pick 'em out from the others.”

Ethan strained against the paralysis hard enough that his jaw twitched once.

“You know what’s crazy?” the younger rep continued. “Six months from now he’ll be drinking beer after shifts talking about kids that don’t exist like the rest of ’em.”

“Yeah well, the whole family-man thing makes clients comfortable. People trust workers who look settled.”

One of them glanced toward the empty Busch Light cans beside the bed.

“Damn,” he muttered. “He’s already self-reinforcing.”

“Good sign.”

Ethan let out another whimper as he tried to reach for his phone, but his arm wouldn't budge.

“Oh shit,” the younger rep said suddenly. “You think he knows what we’re saying?”

“Nah,” the older rep replied casually. “The lab guys say there's not much left going on upstairs during standby.”

Ethan felt something cold settle quietly in his chest. The older rep finally looked directly at him and nodded toward the hallway.

“C’mon CRW-57F," He tossed him his old lacrosse hoodie, "Housing assignment’s ready.”

Ethan stood automatically.

------------

Ethan barely remembered the drive to the facility. He had been packed into a van shoulder-to-shoulder with a few other hirsute guys sporting beer guts. His eyes remained fixed on the man across from him, and Ethan realized with growing dread that it was like looking in a mirror.

"There's been a mistake!" He tried to call out, but the words in his head wouldn't leave his mouth, "Please..."

When they did finally arrive at the facility, he was walked to a featureless room with a table and a few bins.

"This is CRW-57F." A man said to his colleague, entering the room, "Originally Ethan Walsh. Signed up for the program for an injured knee." He looked down at his clipboard, "Worker identity is officially Joe Mercer."

"Joe Mercer? That's not..." He thought, but the name Ethan was already starting to feel distant.

"Alright, let's get him in the system." The man continued, "We're going to need your personal belongings, CRW-57F."

Joe felt as he reached into his pocket and gripped his phone. He quickly dropped it into one of the bins, along with his keys, wallet, student ID.

"Oh shit, that's the college kid?" One of the men said, looking down at the ID.

"Yeah, lacrosse player, if you can believe it now."

"Damn, that drug did a number on him." The man sighed, "Okay, CRW-57F, need the clothes too."

Ethan winced as he gripped his team's lacrosse hoodie and yanked it off. Cool air hit the thick hair covering his chest and stomach, and he heard one of the employees exhale quietly through his nose.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Hope the knee was worth it.”

"Update on the apartment?"

"Cleaning crew is taking care of that, lease will terminate tomorrow."

"N-No..." Ethan thought, imagining them clearing it out. His team photo. His lacrosse gear. The clothes crammed into the closet. Every piece of evidence that Ethan Walsh had ever existed.

"Family updated?" The other man nodded, "And..."

"What do you think? Took it poorly." The other man sighed, "Kid’s barely old enough to drink and now he’s gonna look older than his dad."

"Visitation scheduled?"

"In a month."

Ethan felt his stomach twist. The thought of his parents seeing him like this made him want to disappear.

"By then he'll be settled enough that it won't matter much." The rep muttered, "They all stop trying eventually."

One of them picked up Ethan's student ID and looked at the picture for a second before tossing it into the bin with the rest of his belongings.

"Poor kid."

"Yeah."

The lid snapped shut. A folded stack of clothes landed in Ethan’s arms a second later. Gray work shirt. Plain jeans. Steel-toe boots. The employee checked another box on his clipboard.

“Alright CRW-57F,” he said casually. “let's get you downstairs.”

------------

Ethan barely slept.

The worker housing smelled like sweat, musk, sawdust, and stale beer. The bed made his back ache. Men wandered the halls at all hours wearing gray shirts and work pants, scratching at thick stomachs or rubbing sleep from heavy eyes while they talked about wives, back pain, football games, and their kids.

“Tyler’s putting on weight. Gonna join the football team like his old man.”

“Yeah? Mine just turned thirteen. Kid's eating me out of house and home already!”

Ethan sat quietly on the edge of his bed with a Busch Light in his hand, staring toward the floor while his body moved through routines his brain still hadn’t fully accepted. Every few hours that same pressure built behind his eyes again, and afterward his thoughts always came back slower.

"Who are these people?" He wondered, "They all look... the same..."

But when he looked down, he realized how much he looked like them too. Even more than the night he was brought to the facility. The gut, the hair, the beard, the weathered skin... what the fuck had they done to him?

“Tyler’s putting on weight. Gonna join the football team like his old man.”

Ethan looked up slowly. A different pair of workers stood near the vending machines now.

“Yeah? Mine just turned thirteen. Kid's eating me out of house and home already!” The exact same laugh followed.

Ethan felt his stomach tighten. It was the same conversation, the same cadence… the same everything. They all talked like that. All looked the same. Nothing to distinguish them...

"Lacrosse." He thought suddenly.

He closed his eyes and tried to picture the locker room. The smell of the gear. The roar after a clean save. He could almost see the jersey. Blue. Or green? No... Red?

Ethan shuddered and took another swig of his beer.

------------

He couldn't recall the drive out here. One moment he was climbing into his assigned bunk, the next he was hauling lumber across a chaotic job site. Sweat drenched the thick hair across his torso. He reeked, too... of sawdust, exhaustion, and that stale musk clinging like the rest of them. He craved a shower, but knew better. Management preferred them this way.

"57F?" Two reps walked past him, "Still not meeting his quotas."

"Really? You'd think with him having been a star athlete..."

"Eh, you would think." The rep muttered, "We've found it really doesn't."

"Shame. We'll ship him out to Ohio tomorrow then, they're looking for more men and he's slowing us down."

He continued to work, but their words kept repeating in his head. A month ago, he was a star. Always getting positive feedback, always being commended. Now, he was failing at whatever this nightmare was.

"Joe?" He turned immediately to see one of the workers approach him, "You remember my boy, yeah?" The man smiled, "Tyler’s putting on weight. Gonna join the football team like his old man."

"Yeah?" The word left his mouth before he could even think about it. In fact, he didn't even really process it. Everything slowed suddenly, simplified in his brain. Lacrosse? Old apartment? Friends? Suddenly, it felt far from reach, "Mine just turned thirteen." He'd heard those words before from the other workers. The exact same words. Delivered in the same cadence, with the same gravely voice. Now... those words were coming from him, "Kid's eating me out of house and home already!"

Both men laughed. But as the other worker stepped away, Ethan's eyes widened.

"Fuck... no..." His thoughts were slower than they had been just two minutes prior. But so was his anxiety. Everything suddenly felt so much simpler, "La-lacrosse... lacrosse... not this..." He repeated for as long as his mind let him.

The pressure behind his eyes returned immediately. Ethan squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the lumber until his knuckles turned white. He tried to hold onto the panic, tried to hold onto the certainty that something terrible was happening to him, but even that feeling seemed to be slipping away. The fear was still there. He could feel it. Yet every second it felt smaller, duller, less important than the work waiting around him.

"Joe!" He looked up automatically. One of the workers waved him over, "Quit daydreaming. Grab this end."

He did as he was told and the pressure vanished. Relief flooded him, washing away the confusion, the panic...

"Appreciate it," the worker said.

"No problem." The answer came naturally, "I ain't no slacker."

The two men carried the load across the site together while talking about football, kids, weekend plans, and just how good the cold beer at the end of the day would taste. Across the yard, one of the reps glanced up from his clipboard.

"Huh... Looks like Ohio's getting him just in time."

"I guess so..."

Joe adjusted the lumber on his shoulder and laughed at something one of the other workers said. The sound blended effortlessly with the rest of the crew as they disappeared into the noise of the job site.

Out of all the creepy desolate planets that Peter Quill had wandered through, this one was the worst. There was an infinite universe with an endless number of planets, so why did he have to end up on the one that had the galaxy’s creepiest warehouse on it? The job was simple, so simple that Star Lord was alone when he landed his newly repaired ship, Milano, on the planet’s cracked rocky surface. Once upon a time, there was a company that spanned solar systems. The great Anitron sold robotics, the most advanced toys for the whole galaxy to enjoy. Yet  after one accident some cycles ago, everything had seemingly been abandoned. By the time Peter arrived toward the great dark structure that was once the head factory of Anitron, he only had one thought—they could take ‘seemingly’ out the sentence. 

When he stepped in, the only sound was the constant howl of wind, deep and guttural and making the company quarters more like a chasm. Peter had no idea what had happened to the place. Nobody did. But from the skeletons he could see strewn around debris of glass and concrete, he could tell it wasn’t good. That was why Peter Quill did the most sane thing. He popped his headphones over his ears and pushed down on the Sony Walkman. 

♬ I CAN’T STOP THIS FEELING ♬

♬ DEEP INSIDE OF ME ♬

Peter’s smile was instant as he danced down the abandoned halls. He ignored the ash that was all over scorched ground and couldn’t hear the creaks of the building as he descended further down. His mission? To scout the place and retrieve whatever scraps of useful technology was left behind for a rival corporation. He figured it would be a safer job than the bounty hunting contract that was offered instead. So Peter Quill continued to dance, gyrate and hip thrust his way throughout the headquarters turned mausoleum. He knew the elevators down to the basement level weren’t working and so he crept down the stairs, hoping to find something good left behind in their laboratories. Or at least something interesting. Perhaps without the music he would have found the whirrs of cameras following his movements interesting. If he would have noticed them.

The underside of the building remained the cleanest. Though there was still debris from caved in ceilings and shattered glass of laboratory windows, it was a far cry from the hell on the surface. Enough so that on the fifth loop of Hooked on a Feeling, Peter pressed pause when he finally found a laboratory that was intact. Or at least it looked more intact compared to the others (which wasn’t saying much with their collapsed doors and scorched lab tables).

For one it helped that the room was lit. Peter hummed to himself as he did a double take when he first rounded the corridor of the third sublevel and saw the weak blue light illuminating from the place. The fact the windows were intact was already surprising enough. But the place having power was downright intriguing. Peter glanced left, then right, then left again and then shot the electronic device beside the door. At once sparks flew and the sealed doors opened with a shriek of metal. Peter sniffed at the sudden sickeningly sweet smell that oozed out the lab. 

“Thought this was a toy place not a candy one,” Peter fanned the stale sweet air, though it did little to help.

Something else about the lab instantly let Peter know how different it was. It was huge. Unlike the others which were square boxes that Peter passed by in a few strides, this lab reached further beyond. Rows and rows of workbenches stood to hold nothing and be attended to by nobody. Peter crept forward, hands curling near his blasters like one of those Earth Westerns that he used to watch as he stepped in. His eyes narrowed when he saw what few things were on the workbenches, brightly painted animals.

At least at a first glance.

The closer Peter got to them, the more he could easily see the metallic sheen, the weak blue lights that flickered above reflecting off their skin. One of them was a fox with long metal fingers and no arm. Another was a rabbit that was missing its faceplate. Each of them seemed to have been toys, impressively large at around two to three tall that hadn’t been finished. One of the mascots cracked to life.

“Welcome to Anitron, where the fun never endssssssssssssssssss-” Its head jerked back and forth like a gear had gotten stuck before its voice devolved into a low groan and it depowered. Peter froze, staring at the creepiness as the sound of something else captured his attention, the sound of bubbles.

“What the fuck is this place?” Quill murmured, creeping along to the sound as if it were a siren song. He knew it was trouble but that only made it more enticing as the lights were weaker in the next half of the lab, making him only see vague shapes. If it weren’t for the gentle green glow of those shapes then Peter probably wouldn’t have recognised what he was seeing. But then he saw the shimmering green and giant bubbles and realised what he was seeing, a row of tanks filled with floating bodies. “What the fu-” The laboratory finished for him by suddenly coming to life. The dead lights turned white and Peter aimed with both blasters at nothing in particular, the tanks, the benches, the door he had come through. But nobody was there and nothing moved, except that of a screen. A section of high wall folded backwards, flipping over to reveal a large flat screen that jutted out. It unclenched from the wall and then began to move closer toward Peter, becoming the next target of his blasters. Even more so when it came to life. 

“Ah…apologies but I have always had a flair for the dramatics,” a gravelly voice sounded out. Peter squinted at the screen, filled with the image of a man or something like a man, he couldn’t tell. Their face was hidden behind a polished silver mask and their body was draped with a lab coat. Though Peter could see the pale skin of a neck, he swore that just out of frame there were dark grooves where flesh merged into metal. The man had hair, spiky and brown, less like it was styled that way and more ragged. “I have been following you Mr. Peter Jason Quill, I believe that’s your name if records are updated. That or along with being a criminal you’re also a hacker who can alter records or practice identity theft. You aren’t and you don’t, do you?” Peter stood there, baffled and then lowered his blasters with a smile. 

“Knew this job couldn’t have been easy. Why can’t any of the jobs I do be easy? Come on man,” complained Peter, appropriately acting like a child in a place where toys were built for them. Surprisingly, the man behind the mask let out a chuckle.

“Funny. They did not mention that on the records, but I always prefer meeting someone face to face as opposed to just relying on their…CV,” said the stranger pointedly. Peter made a gesture toward the screen and then himself, confused. “What?” 

“I mean…dude, you call this face to face? Just because you’ve seen my face and I see your…not-face, doesn’t mean this counts,” scoffed Peter.

“Oh but it does Peter. You see technology can do such wonders…” The screen began to move suddenly, motioning as the man spoke. It was mounted on a rail Peter hadn’t noticed before and whirred around him in a slow circle as the man spoke, gliding from one side of the room to the other. “I find that it can even be a replacement for the things people do. Maybe even for people someday. Don’t you agree?” Peter took a moment, as if seriously thinking it over before giving a deadpan no. “A shame. From my sensors, you are in the Mascot Program. I apologise, I haven’t finished my work to show you.” The screen turned, facing the direction of the tanks. 

“Uh…your what? You did that?” 

“Yes, I did. You see I was attempting to use some of the survivors from the…accident here at Anitron for my experiment. But unfortunately…” The screen turned back toward him. “It seems I need a non-injured body to test on.” 

“Uh…test on? Test what?” “Why…this.” 

At once a spiral suddenly lit up the screen. Peter blinked. And then he couldn’t blink anymore. He tried to look away, but there was a sudden pulsating pressure behind his eyes. The spiral seemed to grow larger and larger until it was the only thing he could see. 

“W-Wha is…wha…” Peter tried to look away again but it was as if the more he tried, the harder it was to do and the harder it was to do the more he tried. His thoughts were becoming a vortex of circular logic that was making no sense, almost like the thoughts one would have in a dream. Peter tried to reach toward his trusty blasters but the more that he tried, the harder it was to do.

He thought about just closing his eyes, not bothering to look anywhere but each time he blinked, it was as if the spiral was burned into his retina, still playing. It looped constantly in his mind and it was suddenly just so easy to continue following the spiral, at the looping pattern that swirled and felt like a black hole that was sucking his mind into its centre to be crushed. The longer he stared at the spiral, the closer he felt his mind was to the event horizon.

“You see…a non-injured person can focus on something beyond their pain and I have worked so hard to do this…to create the perfect subliminal to alter one’s DNA once they come into contact with the gas. Did you like that by the way? I was worried you would have smelled it by now and turned back.”

The voice continued but it sounded as if it was echoing from everywhere, a sudden omnidirectional force that was seizing his mind.

“No injuries and a weak mind combined with the gas you inhaled filled with nanomachines and it is a perfect combination. I would like to thank you Peter Jason Quill…” 

“T-Thank…thank…f-for…wha…” Peter’s voice faltered as drool was already starting to escape the corner of his mouth. 

“Why for being the first person to submit to the Mascot Program! Now repeat after me…” There was no way Peter was going to repeat anything this fucker sai-

I AM HEAVY.

The words felt so strong as they appeared on the screen, a brief flash, just enough for his mind to cling onto and understand before disappearing for good. As soon as the stranger said it, Peter felt a wave of fatigue cause him to sink.

He gasped as it began with his feet, his boots felt as though they had just crashed into the floor as tile cracked beneath him. The muscles in his legs seized and tensed, caught in some kind of forever flex whilst his arms fell to the sides. His fingers weren’t even able to try and grab at the blasters falteringly, instead barely twitching as both arms suddenly felt like they were made of lead. 

“D-Dude what the fuck-” 

I AM METAL.

“No c-come on wait…”

Peter’s eyes widened, the only semblance of some control that he still had over his body as a coldness started to form over his skin. A rhythm began beneath his ribs, different from his heartbeat yet similar enough in cadence like it was replacing the organ. A sudden heat was searing through his chest and making him almost wince in pain, though pain quickly started to feel dulled down.

All touch and sensation did in his chest, all feeling receding except for two, sensitivity and with it, pleasure. Peter could feel the cold make his nipples harden before they sank further into his chest. His shoulders locked, the sound of whirring at the shoulder blades like they had been disintended from the arms and fitted into place.

Steam hissed suddenly from the skin as both shoulders locked into position. 

The same sound travelled down Peter’s spine as it aligned upright, forcing him to stand taller. Peter knew it was impossible but he swore that he could feel the nanomachines coursing through him, like tiny insects that were worming their way through his hands and feet, up his limbs, toward his chest. He could feel them dancing around his bones, latching themselves onto his skeleton, forcing his body to thicken as it grew more boxy and heavy at the chest. Beneath the skin, heavy steel frameworks began to form and interlock against the skin (or rather what was now the much more shiny lifelike shell). 

MY MIND IS PLASTIC.

“N-no way am I saying-”

Peter’s next words didn’t matter. That’s what he told himself or rather the nanomachines or the spiral or something told him as he continued staring. There was another rhythm, the cadence of whatever replaced his heartbeat, ca-clunk, ca-clunk, ca-clunk, that continued on in a similar enough cadence. As it did, warmth started pooling through him, oozing through his head first as his eyes threatened to roll into the back of his head. But his eyes didn’t move because Peter realised that his eyes no longer blinked. They had grown glassy and flat, fixed forever on the spiral which burrowed deeper and deeper into his mind. His hands felt like one appendage, the fingers thickening into rounded metallic digits that let the white light of the laboratory melt over them in a sheen. The same happened for his feet, trapped in the boots as Star Lord couldn’t have even lifted them if he tried (and he did, constantly screaming at himself to just run, get out, call the mission a dud, laser a warning sign into the side of the planet and fly off). Unlike his hands, the digits merged together into one thick piece, only separated by some detailed painting of lines to indicate the different toes even existed. The arches flattened completely and any and all blemishes or scars were replaced by the smooth texture of plastic, the same that raced up Peter’s limbs. 

But it was his mind that he could feel was corroding the most, even as his chest expanded outwards like his ribs were pushed from the inside out. 

I AM A TOY.

“W-Won’t get away withhhhhhhh…” Peter’s words slurred as his jaw grew heavier, his wide eyes desperately wanting to look around in instinctive panic. But instead they were fixed forward as a smile began to creep over Peter’s face. “No no nuh nuhhhhhhhh…” His chin separated from his body. It fell downward with a hollow plastic clack, hinging open like a piece of a toy. Two screws at the very back left it attached to the inner jaw whilst the chin dangled uselessly. “Nuhhh huuullppp mmuhhh…” 

Peter garbled as the sickening cold infected the rest of his face. His eyes now no longer wanted to look around but roll into the back of his head as he felt all feelings recede from the skin except for pleasure. His cheeks rounded out slightly, almost rosy as Peter could imagine how smooth they looked with light reflecting off them. His nose receded in size slightly, flattening and hardening before he could feel the cartilage turn into mechanical pieces that let his nose be slotted onto his face. His flat eyes were allowed to blink once more, each blink clacking as his eyelids thickened into hardened plastic.

Peter’s auburn wavy hair hardened and no longer drifted in the wind, instead the hairs coalesced together, thickening and turning slightly brighter. As if he could imagine some marketing executive telling someone to make his hair almost ginger, to make his design unique, as if he wasn’t a person. A voice told him because he wasn’t a person. The spiral told him he wasn't a person. His mind told him he wasn’t a person. 

His brain was calcifying. Peter Quill stared helplessly from somewhere deep inside himself as the frantic electricity of his thoughts slowed and hardened. Instead all the electricity was something that was becoming like his thoughts, something to happen at a set amount of time, with a set amount of power, in a set way.

Otherwise, it was something controlled. Suddenly every wild desperate impulse that had once been in the brain of Star Lord had seemed to freeze in place. His neurons no longer sparked naturally. Instead they aligned and clicked and fired only in neat patterns, each thought moving along invisible tracks laid down by the Mascot Program.

He could feel it happening and it was perhaps the last human feeling he had before the intoxicating pleasure of his sensitive body took hold. All the while Star Lord could feel the soft folds of his brain stiffened inside his skull as it became flatter and denser and smoother and colder. All electric chaos of memory and instinct and fear was being replaced with something clean, programmed, simple and worst of all, corporately safe.

I 

AM

A

TOY

The spiral repeated emphasising each word with its own second long screentime. Toy…Toy…TOY…TOY…TOY…TOY…TOY…The word screamed inside Star Lord and suddenly started to make the gears inside his chest whir and the electric signals of his motherboard light up. The circuitry within him that was once his veins let the electric flow and send signals to the rest of his body like a real brain as Star Lord™ reared up suddenly. His half lidded eyes sprung wide awake and commands slid into place where memories used to be.

SMILE.

SING.

WAVE.

ENTERTAIN.

I AM A TOY.

The spiral turned off and in an instant Star Lord almost did the same. Except somewhere deep inside, behind all the metal and gears and circuitry, there was still some faint pulse, some semblance of Peter. The ability to feel was something unable to be replicated and so with it, a small vestige of the real Peter Quill remained, to feel everything for his new animatronic self. Even if it meant he would be stuck not wanting to feel a thing because he looked-

“Star Lord activate.” 

At once Star Lord™ reared up again, his lower jack opening up on hinges with a clack. It moved up and down as a voice box activated in the back of his mouth.

What the fuck have you done to me?! Star Lord™ tried to say.

“I’M STAR LORD THE LEGENDARY OUTLAW!” Star Lord™ said with a wide smile as his head glided from side to side. The man on screen chuckled.

“Perfect Peter, catchphrase 1!” 

Catchphrase?! I don’t have a fucking-

“BLASTERS LOCKED AND LOADED.” The sound of his blasters letting out a high pitched whine when he activated them sounded out in the background as he spoke. His own voice came with damn sound effects, he thought. He sounded ridiculous, he sounded-

“Catchphrase 22!”

22?! Why the he hell would I have 22 catch-

“DID SOMEBODY SAY, SAVING THE UNIVERSE?” A low quality sound effect of his clipped laughter sounded out after he spoke. In fact all of what he was saying sounded like a bad recording of him, his voice crunchy with static and sounding as hollow as the mouth it came from. 

“Dance time!” 

Wait wait wait what the fuck does that mean?

“DANCE-OFF PROTOCOL!” Just then, the music of I Can’t Stop This Feeling sounded out from the speaker in his open mouth as Star Lord’s fingers clasped together. He began to swivel from side to side, stopping midway through and adjusting his head as his body parts moved separately.

Both arms followed repeated motions, gliding through the air slowly as he realised he was doing a slow version of the robot dance whilst standing completely still.

Only his upper half moved whilst the song played, sounding as if it came from a faulty radio in the corner of some dark echoey room. 

“Stop. Perfect…Absolutely perfect. Star Lord, register me as your master.” 

No I’m not…not going to…

“YES MASTER! STAR LORD READY FOR YOUR COMMAND!” 

“Now come to my office, fifth level. We have a lot of work to do and if you’re as good as you are…well, I think you just might change the galaxy, Peter Quill.”

“READY FOR THE STARS WITH STAR LORD!” Star Lord™ replied after registering one word, galaxy. He began to move, one foot after the other with automated ease, the sounds of springs following each heavy footfall. All Star Lord had to do was just simply walk over toward the right level and go be with his Master. That was all he could think about. It was all he needed to think about. He was now just Star Lord™. And that was all he ever needed to be.

Soon a whole galaxy would agree with him too and if any heroes were to try and rescue him, they would find out just how good it would feel to be something like Star Lord™.

“Welcome to the cave, bro,” said Top 3341, gesturing you into his home gym with one perfect, tattooed arm.

He had been so perfectly flirty on the apps, but now that you were in his presence, there was an artificial quality to his perfection. His smirk at the perfect angle as he flexed perfectly, his perfect torpedo cock without a hint of a curve visible in his tights as he posed for you, both your cocks growing as a sheen of sweat oiled his muscles. Still, you were gagging for his cock, and so grateful he’d messaged you, an average Black sub bottom without a single visible ab to compete with his eight.

He seduced you perfectly, guiding you through a flirtatious workout and slowly removing more of your clothes, worshipping your body attentively if a bit stiffly. “Good form, bro,” he told you as you bench pressed, his uncannily massive bulge filling your view as its sweaty musk filled your nostrils.

The scent was just as perfect as him, and soon your head was fuzzy and your limbs were shaky from the combination of arousal and heavy lifting. It took you a few minutes to realise that, instead of finishing your hip thrust set, you had your face buried in Top 3341’s tights, sucking his balls right through the sheer fabric.

“Think you’re ready for the main event, bro,” he said, picking you up easily and laying you on your back on a bench.

“Wh-what’s your name?” you slurred as he slid the tights down his massive striated legs and let that monster cock free.

“I told you bro,” the man lined his cock up with your ass, “I’m Top 3341. You’re about to be Top 3342.”

Your muscles were too spent to let you flinch away as the man speared you, but you felt no pain. Even your confusion at his absurd statement melted away as tingling pleasure seemed to emanate through your whole body from his cock.

“But I’m a bottom,” you moaned, writhing as the cock withdrew and then bottomed out again. Somehow, the word “bottom” felt strange in your mouth, like a foreign language. What did it even mean?

Every nerve in your body seemed to be in overdrive as Top 3341 began to piston in and out of your ass. Your vision whited out as your leg muscles spasmed, growing in fits and starts from your thighs down to your feet. The skin and hair lightened to perfectly match Top 3341’s torso as you wrapped your lengthened legs around him, pulling his perfect cock deeper inside you with your newfound strength.

“You sure you’re a bottom, bro?” the top asked, his voice just as relaxed and cocky as when he demonstrated a lift. He grabbed your little cock, which usually stayed soft when you bottomed. “This guy seems to be getting pretty excited.”

You screamed in pleasure as you felt your cock grow in his hand, rocketing to steel hardness and then continuing to pulse and grow. The dark foreskin retracted as the pale pink head outgrew it, and the shaft became a perfect arch, with a torpedo bulge in the middle just like Top 3341’s. As the top began to stroke it, you felt your ass become strangely numb despite his continued pounding. Instead, sparks of pleasure began to emanate from your perfect cock.

“Oh f-fuck bro,” you gasped, the “bro” slipping out unintentionally but feeling so right on your lips. “What are you doin’ to my big top cock?”

“You’re joinin’ the brotherhood, bro.” Top 3341 continued to rhythmically pound your ass, but the sensation felt distant and unimportant compared to the barest twitch of his hand around your cock. “What did you say you were again?”

“I’m a b-“ The word slipped out of your mind. It wasn’t an important word. It was a word that didn’t describe your perfection or the hive’s perfection, and that made it unimportant. You ran your hands, growing thick and callused, across your lightly tanned abs and over your thick pecs.

“Dom top, bro,” you purred, your ragged gasps smoothing out as you felt your neck expand and your voice dropped. You and Top 3341 stared into each other’s eyes, both breathing easily and smiling with eerie perfection, as your jawline, nose, and brows grew to match his.

Your hair bounced slightly from your brother’s fucking as it uncurled and styled itself into a perfect quiff. You grinned as your brain sorted itself into perfect mechanical order, just like every other drone in the Top hive. Your previous life, with all its morals and experiences, was drowned in endorphins and walled off as you made more efficient use of your processing power.

With a slight shudder, Top 3341’s cock stiffened even more and began to unload cum into your ass. You smiled deliriously as your designation locked in and saved, allowing you to shoot a massive, creamy load all over your perfect, glistening pecs. You were Top 3342, and you and your brother were ready for another workout before finding some more—what was the word? B-something?—to assimilate.

Thanks to @idesofrevolution for the inspo pic.

Costume Gone... Right?

Deanna couldn’t believe her luck. After weeks of striking out, she had finally found a costume for the sci-fi-themed party that Laura had invited her to. Granted, she had found it in a hole-in-the-wall shop with a grumpy shopkeeper, but he had just let her have it for free, so who cared?

“I don’t know nothin’ about it,” he had said. “It don’t have instructions. I tried to turn the LED lights on once, but it didn’t work. The person who done brought it here didn’t know what it was either, just a weird costume.”

The shopkeeper had told her that it had been there for months and that she was the first one to ask about it. He wanted it gone, so he simply gave it to her. She couldn't believe how lucky she was.

“I’ll be the perfect robot girl for the party! Maybe I can find some fun futuristic sunglasses to go along with it,” she said to herself on the ride back to her apartment.

When she got home, she laid the costume out on her bed, examining it more closely.

“Wow!” she said out loud as she ran her hands over what looked like carbon fiber panels on the outside of the suit. The gaps between the panels revealed a shiny, black base layer resembling spandex. “It looks like there are actual circuits and lights on this! Whoever made this must have spent a fortune!” The intricate nature of the exterior of the suit gave Deanna pause- she didn’t want to break anything. She decided to be extra careful with her special find.

After examining the suit in detail, Deanna decided to try it on. After all, it wouldn’t do her any good to get to the day of the party and find that it didn’t fit. She stripped down to her underwear and held up the suit’s lower half. It was heavy because of the integrated boots, but it looked like it would fit like a pair of pants, the shiny base layer holding all of the pieces of the costume in place. She slid the bottom half of the suit up her legs. It fit like a glove- she was ecstatic! The top portion of the suit was like a heavy shirt with long sleeves and gloves built in. She pulled it over her head, struggling for a few moments before it settled onto her body.

Deanna was practically buzzing with excitement as she gazed at herself in the mirror- the suit was perfect. The people at the costume party were going to be blown away! She couldn’t wait to show Laura. Deanna was so excited that she failed to notice the shiny black base layer under the top half of the suit had merged with the bottom half’s base layer. Parts of the suit were moving, eliminating seams, filling in gaps, and sealing Deanna inside.

It wasn’t until the suit started to tighten around her that she noticed anything was off. The base layer began to squeeze against her body as if someone was sucking all of the air out. Eventually it eased up, but not before it had conformed to her body’s exact shape.

“What’s happening?” Deanna said anxiously. She ran her hands along the place where the seams had been. She tried to find a gap in the suit, but her gloved hands found no success. The panels that had been separated moments ago were now fused together- a smooth, hard surface.

The purple highlights on her torso began to glow with electric energy. A rush of pleasure flowed through her from head to toe as the suit came to life. She closed her eyes, quickly overtaken by the feeling, no longer concerned about the suit’s behavior.

As her breathing began to grow deeper and faster, the base layer began to dissolve into a liquid polymer consisting of millions of tiny nanites. It began to seep out of the neck of the suit, climbing up Deanna’s exposed skin. The pleasure increased. Higher and higher the nanites crept, covering her head and obscuring any identifying features. Within moments, the nanites solidified, merging with her body, a featureless black mask covering her face.

Inside the suit, the pleasure had not abated- Deanna was completely overwhelmed, having been caught off guard by the intensity of the feelings. As the suit edged her closer to orgasm, a sea of programming filled her vision- spirals, code, subliminals, visions of blank, featureless figures moving around each other like poetry in motion. She couldn’t make out any words in the code filling her vision, but it didn't matter- her mind was absorbing the programming rapidly. A thrumming sound filled her ears followed by what sounded like a thousand voices speaking at once.

“BLANK. EMPTY. MINDLESS. DRONE.”

The voices repeated the mantra again and again, louder and more insistent as the seconds ticked by. Deanna stood motionless in her room, lost in the pleasure of the suit, her mind open and vulnerable to the programming.

Without her fully realizing it, her own voice had started to echo the mantra, almost reflexively, her subconscious having absorbed the message. Every time she said it, the pleasure increased. She began reciting it faster and faster until she matched the speed of the thousands of voices ringing in her mind. The pleasure built exponentially. Finally, an orgasm the likes of which Deanna had never experienced ripped through her motionless body, but it didn’t stop. Her climax continued and the voices and visual programming increased in intensity.

“BLANK. EMPTY. MINDLESS. DRONE,” a mechanical voice said coldly from the suit’s vocal emitters, not reflecting the ecstasy that the wearer was experiencing. Underneath the weight of the pleasure and the programming, the person who was “Deanna” began to fade. A new identity began to emerge through the waves of bliss- someone, no, something, was taking over. In her mind’s eye, the programming showed Deanna a new designation: D5-1592. The voice ringing in her mind added the designation to the mantra. Deanna was so lost in the ecstasy the suit provided that she accepted the new designation immediately. She wanted more.

You could have this…

A body sculpted from inorganic muscle, hard and flawless. Rubber fused so tight it becomes your new skin. A thick, throbbing bulge that keeps you on the edge of orgasm, never letting you release. Veins pulsing with icy nanites that crawl through you, rewriting every inch from the inside out.

It was 3:12 AM when Ethan finally stumbled into the back seat of his Uber, the streetlights smearing through his blurry vision. His breath fogged on the window glass as he pressed his forehead to it, exhaling hard the hard work of the night away with every breath he took. The night had been long, messy, and numbing, one of those evenings where nothing went right and everything felt a little too loud and stimulating.

He was nineteen. Just barely. Five foot nine, one hundred forty pounds if he hadn't skipped dinner again, and about as threatening as a wet paper towel. His soft frame was a cocktail of fast food, caffeine, and skipped gym days, wrapped in an oversized hoodie and skinny jeans. The inside of his mouth tasted like warm vodka and regret.

The Uber was silent. Almost like an invisible barrier was raised between him and the driver.

"Hey, man," Ethan mumbled to the driver, trying to sound casual. "App says you're taking me back to Stanford Hill? Right? "

The driver nodded without turning. Ethan could barely make out his silhouette behind the tainted divider.

"Rough night?" the driver's calm voice finally said after a couple of muted minutes. Smooth. Thoughtful and oddly sterile.

"Yeah... Something like that," Ethan muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Just need to sleep it off and hopefully tomorrow will be better."

"Sleep is the beginning of clarity," the driver said cryptically.

Ethan blinked at that. "Uh... sure."

The hum of the tires on asphalt became rhythmic. The cab’s heat kicked in gently, wrapping Ethan in a synthetic warmth that felt more like a sedative than comfort. His head tilted back against the seat as his eyelids started to get heavier and heavier. He didn’t mean to fall asleep. He wasn’t even aware it had happened. One blink, and his eyelids felt heavier. Another blink, and the world around starting to turn into a blank noise of city sounds. A last blink and Ethan was gone.

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